Between Us, Always

Chapter 23

As we got into the car, Dylan turned to me, his expression soft. "I'm glad we're doing this," he said, his voice quiet but sincere.

"Me too," I replied, giving him a soft smile. "Me too."

We got home, the door clicking shut behind us as we carried in the bags of groceries. The apartment felt cozy, warm in a way that made everything feel just a little bit more intimate, just a little bit more... ours.

"Okay, what should we make for lunch?" I asked, setting the bags down on the counter and glancing over at Dylan, who was still standing by the door, looking a little unsure of what to do next.

"Uh, I don't know. What do you want?" Dylan replied, his voice low but light. There was a certain hesitation in his eyes as he slowly moved to start putting things away.

I smiled, already moving toward the fridge to pull out the ingredients for something simple. "How about pasta?" I said, already thinking about how easy and comforting it would be. "We can make it together."

Dylan nodded, walking over to the counter to help. As we began unpacking the groceries, our hands brushed against each other a few times. Each touch felt more significant than it probably should have, but the warmth of it made me feel a little lighter, a little happier.

I reached for the cutting board to start prepping the vegetables, and Dylan stood beside me, quietly watching me work for a moment. Then, almost absent-mindedly, he reached for the basil and began to tear the leaves, his movements slow and deliberate.

"You know," he began, his voice just above a whisper, "I really like this. Being here with you like this. Just... normal. Like this is us, you know?" He said it as if he were still processing the feeling of it, but it was so genuine, I couldn't help but smile.

"I know," I said softly, looking up from the onions I was chopping. "I like it too. It's nice."

Dylan looked at me, his eyes softening, his gaze lingering for just a second too long before he quickly shifted back to the food. I watched him, and I could feel the air between us charged with something unspoken. It felt like we were dancing around it, both of us trying to express things without putting it into words.

I grabbed the salt to add to the boiling pasta water, but as I reached for it, Dylan's hand came up, brushing mine again. He lingered just a moment longer than necessary, and this time, he didn't immediately pull away. He looked at me, a little unsure but still steady.

"Jun," he said, his voice soft, "I'm... I'm trying. To show you. How much I care."

I swallowed, feeling my heart race a little in my chest. The way he said it, so earnestly, made something inside of me tighten with both excitement and nerves.

"You don't have to try so hard," I whispered, giving him a small smile. "I already know. You don't have to prove anything."

Dylan nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to our hands that were still connected. Then, after a moment, he seemed to gather some courage, his shoulders squaring. "But I want to," he said, his voice a little firmer now. He stepped closer, his hand still holding mine.

And then, just like that, he did it. Without another word, Dylan leaned in slowly, his eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his lips to mine in a kiss. It was gentle, tentative at first, like he was still testing the waters. His lips were warm, and when he kissed me, it was soft, almost as if he was asking for permission.

I didn't hesitate. I kissed him back, my fingers gently resting against his arm, drawing him closer. The kiss deepened, just a little, as if we were both realizing that this was something we wanted, something we needed. I could feel the tension between us melting, and in its place, there was nothing but warmth.

When we pulled away, I didn't say anything immediately. I didn't need to. We just stood there for a moment, faces still close, breathing the same air. I could feel the gentle thrum of his heartbeat beneath my hand, and I realized I was smiling—without even trying.

"You're not so bad at this," I said softly, my voice teasing.

Dylan blushed, his eyes soft. "I'm glad you think so," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

I reached up, brushing a lock of hair from his face, and for a moment, everything felt right. "I think I'm starting to get the hang of it too," I whispered, and Dylan's smile widened, the warmth of it filling up the space between us.

We continued cooking together, the moment lingering in the air like a sweet, quiet promise. The rest of the afternoon passed by in a comfortable haze, the rhythm of our conversation and the soft sound of our laughter filling the apartment.